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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22874290">Loving being loved</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/disjointed_scribblings/pseuds/disjointed_scribblings'>disjointed_scribblings</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sanditon (TV 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Fluff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 08:15:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>942</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22874290</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/disjointed_scribblings/pseuds/disjointed_scribblings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Life as Lady Babington has changed Esther's perspective.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lord Babington/Esther Denham</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>78</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Loving being loved</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Does Babington have a canon first name?! Google gave me nothing. Edit: apparently it's mentioned in one scene! What Ig et for not re-watching before fic'ing</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Love, Esther has learned, need not be some twisted thing fraught with drama and despair. With Babington, there are none of the games she and Edward used to torture one other. She doesn’t worry constantly of his fickleness, catalogue every new lady they encounter as a threat. She no longer needs to scheme desperately, hopelessly, for the vague dream of a new life somewhere far away. </p><p>Love isn’t a closing in, she slowly discovers. Instead, it’s an opening up. Since their parents’ death it had always been just the two of them against the world, because the rest of the world was so inferior; but she has come to realize just how narrow her life was as Esther Denham. Now, as Lady Babington, she encounters a great many people —although they are, of course, still inferior to her and Babington. Since this is not strictly their fault, she is not bitter about it. </p><p>And love — love can be passion without the pain, touches that bring pleasure untinged by shame, or jealousy, or mortification. It can be light, it can be joyful. Now that she has a husband who is only too eager to please, Esther has come to understand her own body’s responses, and how they can be evoked by another — and how, before, they were only ever evoked as another battle in an interminable intimate war. Babington evokes them for their own sake. For her sake.  </p><p>When he first said he loved her she didn’t believe him. Because wasn’t love a grasping, possessive thing? And he does not want to possess her. He wants to set her free. He wants her happiness, not to keep her focus solely on himself. That, she has learned, is what love is about. </p><p>Her aunt once said that it was better to be loved than to love in a marriage. Esther has found that it is better to have both.</p><p>Esther does not deceive herself enough to think that she was in love when she married. James — Babington — appreciates her, and it is good to be appreciated. He makes her laugh, and it is lovely to laugh. He understands her, and it is at once excruciating and gratifying to be so fully known by another. She married him because he was the only man to ever do those things, the only one who ever wanted her as herself. </p><p>But six months of marriage, of waking every morning to James’s wry smile and falling asleep next to his comfortable form, of laughter during wild carriage rides and sarcastic quips during supper parties, of seeing that his genuine happiness to be with her remains undimmed — well. That has certainly been enough to develop her feelings from enjoying being loved, to loving. </p><p>And then, of course, there’s what James is doing at this very moment. Or rather, what he has stopped doing, because he’s sensed her distraction and is raising his head. </p><p>“Am I boring you, my dear?”</p><p>There’s laughter in his voice, but a hint of uncertainty beneath it. Oh, how can he be uncertain of her now? </p><p>Is she really going to have to say it?  </p><p>“If I told you that you were boring me, would you go faster?” </p><p>His eyes sparkle. “Now why would I do that, when it’s so much more satisfying to go slow until you lose your patience?” </p><p>She quirks a brow. “You say such tiresome things, husband. I think you had better put your tongue back to another use.” </p><p>His delighted bark of laughter resonates through her body. But he does lower his head back between her thighs and continue his determined ministrations. In case he gets any more ideas about stopping before he finishes the task at hand, she fists her hands in his hair and holds him where she wants him. He likes it when she does this — she already knew that but his satisfied hum still makes her heart sing. </p><p>“Don’t you stop now,” she pants when he slows just as she’s nearing her crisis, as if he’s planning to make good on his threat of going slowly until she loses her mind. He is very good at making her lose her mind, although she would never give him the satisfaction of telling him so. “You had damn — well — better — keep — on — James. My God — James — I do love you.” </p><p>From this intimate position she feels the stutter in his breath like her own heart skipping a beat, but she’s too far gone to think about it. Instead she digs her fingers into his head and cries his name as she rides out her petite mort. </p><p>When she’s stopped seeing stars, her field of vision is entirely taken up by James, looking smug. </p><p>“I don’t know what you’re so pleased about,” she says, although he’s made her so breathless that it isn’t as cutting as usual. </p><p>“I’m sorry, my dear. Did I bore you?” </p><p>“To death,” she quips. </p><p>“And yet you love me.” He says it wonderingly. After these six months — can he really be so surprised. </p><p>She raises her hand, brushes the sweat-dampened hair out of his dear face. “I do.” </p><p>The look he gives her is so pathetically enamoured that she feels compelled to add, “After all, you’re the least objectionable man of my acquaintance.” </p><p>“Of course,” he grins. </p><p>She can feel her face heat. “Oh, be quiet and make yourself useful again.” </p><p>“Anything for you, my most insulting love,” he says, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead.  </p><p>This time they ride together, hard and fast the way she likes it, and as they go over the precipice they both cry out words of love.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Can I imagine a world where Esther lets herself be openly vulnerable without immediately being prickly afterward? No, but Babington is a giant puppy who loves her anyway.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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